Something Funny Happened on the Road to Revenge
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: For now, just a one shot about what Hook did that very first night in Storybrooke. (Connected to my longer fic, Never Neverland, but you don't need to read that one in order to understand this). Alas, I still do not own, nor am I affiliated with the creators of Once Upon a Time.


Despite Cora's warnings to the contrary, Killian Jones finds himself stalking the rain-slicked streets of Storybrooke, Maine. The second her daughter had stepped out of that strange and brightly-lit tavern, the Queen of Hearts became distracted and quickly disappeared in a column of purple smoke. And that's when he had discovered a diversion of his own. However, it isn't a dark magician he's following, skulking after in the shadows; the rooftops provide him with the cover he needs to silently track the three adults and one child. The tall lanterns lining the main thoroughfare cause a certain blonde head to look positively haloed in their yellowed light. It reminds him of the golden-white burst of magic that flew across his closed eyes, forcing him to regain consciousness by the portal in the Enchanted Forest—just in time to watch Emma and her mother link hands over the compass and jump into the magical whirlpool.

He knows now that he really shouldn't have underestimated her, shouldn't have toyed with the Swan girl simply because she didn't know how to wield a sword properly. She had bloody good form and follow through with her punches, not holding anything back; it's really no wonder that she knocked him flat on his ass, especially with her fist wrapped around the heavy glass and metal instrument. Thank gods he thought to collect that last bean from the giant _before_! If he hadn't he might not have had the leverage against Cora that he had needed to gain passage to this realm. And then where would he have been? Trapped, without a way to complete his revenge! He shudders at the disheartening thought. Bad enough that the Crocodile found a way to bring magic to this world, forestalling Captain Hook's carefully laid plans.

His thoughts continue in their frustrated vein until he sees the family enter the tall red-brick building across the road. A dark smile crosses his lips, thinking of the small retribution he has in mind for the princess; it would be bad form, after all, to not at least give her a sporting chance and inform her of his presence in her village. Perhaps, he can even manage to take some small trinket as a souvenir, along with leaving a calling card behind. He pulls out his spyglass, laughing to himself at the ease with which he can observe every movement of every family member. This world thinks itself so secure, with all the bricks and solid-seeming glass, that they don't even think about what remains visible to those with seeking eyes. He settles in to wait for them all to sleep, watching for his opportune moment to strike.

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Emma stretches, fingertips almost brushing the lowest exposed beam in her bedroom. Thankfully, David isn't a slob like a lot of the men she's known, so he kept it clean and neat while she and Mary Margaret were gone. As soon as they had gotten home, she had shrugged off the bulky, uncomfortable sweater; she liked being warm and all, but that particular blouse did absolutely nothing for her. The brick walls tend to keep the heat in pretty well though, so she's comfortable with just her black camisole. She sits down on her bed and starts unzipping her boots, looking at them critically; the forest was far from kind to her favorite footwear, so replacing them soon is high on her to-do list now that she's back. She slips her socks off while she's still seated, then walks over by the window, depositing the worn items into her dirty laundry basket.

She looks out at the sleepy storefronts, grateful for these quaint signs of civilization. There hadn't been anything remotely close to this refined back in the Enchanted Forest; the place had been practically medieval _before_ the Evil Queen's curse had hit. Emma shudders, glad that that particular nightmare is over. Now, she has her own bed and sheets and heating! She's never realized before the simple pleasure of being able to sleep as comfortably as possible. She smiles to herself, making a spontaneous decision and quickly tugging off her top before she can talk herself out of it. She slips her bra-straps off either shoulder before reaching around to undo the hooks-and-eyes. She drops both into the basket, then unbuttons her jeans and shimmies out of both them and her panties. She stretches sinuously again then pulls back the covers on her bed. The crisp linen sheets feel marvelous against her naked skin, eliciting another secret smile and a contented sigh. Emma reaches across the bed to her night stand, switching off the lamp before her head hits the pillow.

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It was as if the wicked, infuriating temptress bloody _knew_ that he was there watching her! Killian Jones prided himself on being a gentleman, but it had taken all of his considerable will power to _not_ look at her through his spyglass. Even at this distance though, he could tell that it was a supremely lovely vision. And that sublime beauty made his night's mission even riskier and more fraught with danger. But whether the one in peril was him or Swan, he still hadn't quite resolved. So, he waits, standing in the freezing rain even longer than he had planned, hoping that it will help to cool the fire in his body and his blood. _You've gone far too long without pleasurable company, Hook._

The clock on the old library tower strikes three before he finally moves. He'll be exposed when he crosses the street to the side alley, but no one has stirred for hours. Striding purposefully and quietly, he wraps most of his hook in a scrap of fabric so that it does not clank against the metal stairs that are attached to the side of the building. He hasn't a clue why it's there; he's just grateful for the lack of guards and false sense of security the people of this world have. It makes breaking into Emma's home that much easier on him. He's still concerned that she will be on alert—people as wary and damaged as she tend to be more careful whilst appearing to be undisturbed.

Finally, he reaches the last metal rung, gently shifting his weight from it to the grating that sits a few feet below one of her windows. Thankfully, for him, the latch sits right on the bottom sill. He slips the tip of his hook into the seam between the wood and the glass, slowly lifting. When he has created a wide enough gap, he presses upward with his good hand, freeing his hook to fiddle with the latch. Finally, the latch comes undone, yet he still moves at a snail's pace, raising the window as quietly and gently as possible. But once he's finally inside, all he can do is stare at the woman in the bed.

Emma is breathtakingly beautiful with her golden hair spread out on her pillows and a small smile on her face. He's never seen her vulnerable and entirely defenseless. The thought pierces his chest with a violent ache because she hasn't chosen to share this part of herself with him; without meaning to, he's pilfered something precious from her. However, he can't bring himself to stop looking at her. He is struck with a wild yearning—a mad desire to kiss this particular princess awake, to be the hero of her dreams. His own laughter echoes in his mind, full of scorn and derision. He could never be what this brilliant, amazing woman needs, but he never wants to forget this moment. He needs to be able to remind himself of his own insanity, of just how dark and bitter and empty his life has become. Still moving as stealthily as he can, he settles himself on the floor, less than a yard away from her bed.

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Light is just beginning to creep over the horizon when he halts the gentle scratching of his charcoal stick. He's not completely happy with any of them, but he's sketched her at least half-a-dozen times, trying to capture her sense of calm and peace. His favorite though is of her dreaming; she mumbled a few words that he couldn't quite catch and her brows furrowed as if concentrating or annoyed. It reminds him so much of the looks she threw his way in the giant's lair. Knowing that his time is all too quickly running short, he looks through her wardrobe and chest of drawers. At the bottom of the very lowest one—absolutely filled to the brim with bits of sheer lace and silks and satins that give him a whole new perspective on the woman who is Emma Swan—he finds the very compass he came here seeking. He places it safely in his inner coat pocket and is almost to the window when he hears her says something.

He freezes, not afraid that he's been caught precisely, but certainly anxious to see what an awake, entirely naked Swan will do on discovering his presence in her chamber. He turns around and walks back to her bedside. Her eyes are still shut tight, but there's a new smile on her face: her face is completely relaxed and her lips are parted. He looks away from her, staring at the star-patterned wallpaper and, for a moment, wishing that he were the one to make her feel this way. He runs his fingers along a stray lock of her hair, brushing it aside to join the riot of curls framing her face. He forces himself to draw back his hand and leave her room.


End file.
